


Staring at the Sun

by jendavis



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex!Pollen exists for a reason...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"It's nice out here," Ronon says, stretching in the light, and John knows how that sun-warmed skin will feel when he touches it. "Quiet." He's smiling unguardedly, but instead of making John nervous, like he's dimly aware that it should, it's making him want him more.

They can see the entire settlement from here, wandering through the tall grass, and it's as good a place to stop as any. Ronon thinks so too, apparently, because he's sitting himself down, tugging at John's shirt, and watching the gate.

The sun would be making him drowsy, but a cool breeze comes up from past the settlement, washing over his skin. He's never been more aware in his life, of the creak of Ronon's leather beside him, the heat coming off him, the relaxed sprawl of his legs he leans back on his elbows.

John settles next to him and casts his gaze out over the valley. Down in the abandoned settlement, the botanists are examining the plants growing out of the ruins and the fields beyond, taking their samples and notes.

The wraith could come through at any moment. There are a thousand things that can go wrong, but for once, John doesn't believe it. Laughter drifts up from the settlement and rides the wind to where they're sitting. He could deal with more missions like this.

He's turning to Ronon to tell him so, finds Ronon's already looking up at him. His face is open and relaxed and he's squinting a little bit, but it's just the sun getting in his eyes. John moves closer, just enough to provide some shade, but by the time he gets close enough to do so, his intentions have gone and changed on him. He doesn't stop until he feels Ronon's lips under his own.

A moment, and that should be the end of it, but Ronon doesn't push him away, doesn't smirk, just drags him a bit closer until he's sprawled over him, and his kiss-

When they're lying here like this- only they've never been _like this_ , never, not exactly- Ronon doesn't seem so tall, but John does. Bracing his hands on his shoulders, he resettles himself a little more tightly against Ronon's thigh before rolling to the side, dragging along the heaviness he feels. Shuddering, Ronon hums his contentment, but it's clearly just short of a growl.

"Should stop," he's saying, unbothered, as he rolls to grasp at John's side, not letting him move any further, and he claims John's mouth with his own, tasting his agreement.

 _We should really get back down there_ , John thinks. But there'd been nothing on the long-range sensors, there were guards at the gate, and nobody would be looking for them for the better part of an hour. And Ronon had never been the one to start things, never been the one to want this openly.

John has never been so turned on in his life. He just needs to take the edge off, and they'll be fine.

Ronon stares in the direction of the gate as he works the fly of John's pants open, single-handedly, before moving onto his own, but the angle's all wrong. John's brain kicks into gear then, or maybe out, and he tugs the material aside, freeing him, and he's about to reach out, to touch, but Ronon catches at his wrist. Pulls him close and it's precarious for a moment, but then he's turning and he's wrapped tight against Ronon's chest. One of his necklaces is digging sharply into John's back, but the mouth on his throat is hot, and Ronon's reaching down, and _fuck_ , this is insane.

Craning his neck, he can just barely nip at Ronon's jaw, skim the arm that isn't pinned beneath him back to scratch lightly at Ronon's hip as he starts to stroke him, erratic because of the angle but it feels so damned good and John can't reach. Ronon's grinding against him and _none_ of this is enough. Not nearly.

"You bring anything?" The moment the words are out of his mouth, he's struck with the realization that they're crossing a line, here. Crossing a lot of them.

But they've already come this far, and Ronon's burning against him, and John needs more.

When he opens his mouth to ask again, maybe, or ask if he was the only one gone mad, he finds Ronon's fingers sliding along his lower lip. He captures them, licking and sucking wetly. Ronon brushes deliberately along his side, then, so he shifts, granting him access.

The thought that they _don't do this_ , that they _never do this, not out here_ , flits through his mind, but doesn't gain a foothold. Ronon's skin is rough, but he's moving carefully, more carefully than John could manage. Almost more carefully than he _wants_ , but it's a steady stretch. He's aware of Ronon spitting behind him, and soon- _now_ he feels him lining up, and it's slick and tight and too damned slow, like Ronon's thinking he'll break.

He moves back against him, straining to keep his eyes open on the settlement, on the shapes of their people working in the fields, but it's a nominal effort. It's hard to focus on anything but the sensation of being filled, and after another few moments it's impossible.

He grabs Ronon's hand from his hip and wraps it roughly around his own cock, guiding it, timing his strokes for as long as he can, but he won't last long. Not with the nearly quiet whine Ronon lets out every so often. The sound is amazing in the dark, but now, here in the sun? John doesn't have the words.

" _Ronon_ ," he grinds out, but his eyes stay open, seeing nothing but sunlight and pale grass, and he's _almost_ there, unable to do much more than lie there and take it.

Someday, he'll strip Ronon bare on a mesa somewhere, lay him out on the warm rocks, just that much closer to the sun, and ride his skin all the way down. This is what he's thinking when he can't hold back anymore, and he spills into the soil.

Ronon's breath is hot on the back of his scalp, and it stutters when John shifts his hips, still feeling shocky and raw and blind. Ronon eases his hand from John's cock and grabs his hip again, driving into him a bit more madly, and just as John begins to worry what he'll sound like when he comes, Ronon thrusts in to the hilt and he falters, muscles tight and jerking in his release, quiet as the breeze.

It's a moment before Ronon withdraws, slowly, but it's not until John rolls over that he recognizes the movement as being _wary_ as well.

"John?"

"Ronon?"

"What the hell was _that_?"


	2. Chapter 1

  
Ronon straightens out his clothes and feels the world spin again. This was. This is.

 _Fuck, this was insane._

Anxiously looking over the settlement, he's relieved to find it unchanged. The botanists are still working, and the sun's the tiniest bit lower in the sky, and he's _never_ this lucky, but this world hasn't ended yet.

John's getting to his knees, zipping himself up, and his face is still flushed. His eyes dart everywhere, like he can't decide whether to stare at Ronon or pretend he isn't there at all.

Ronon's not sure himself.

"Hey," John says, maybe for the second time. "Uh. You alright?"

"I'm fine, just. Don't know what-"

"Me neither, I-" John's just as lost as he is, but he doesn't look irate. Even though they broke the number one rule. Let their guard down. Got careless, ridiculously so.

The world tilts again, and Ronon wonders if he's going to be sick, really and truly, he's nauseous, and feels like he's burning up from the inside again, like he might pass out, but this time, there's no outlet, no recourse.

"Ronon?" John's up in an instant, forcing him to open his eyes again. "Hey, it's fine. We're fine, nothing- _Ronon_?"

"I'm. Been out in the sun too long," he tries, but not even John is convinced, though he walks him back into the meager shade of the nearby tree. When Ronon stumbles, he helps him down to lean against the trunk. It's embarrassing.

"Yeah, right. I'm not buying it." He taps his radio back on to transmit, and orders the others to report in. "Everyone all right?"

"We're fine," Ronon hears Lorne respond, followed by the other team leads. It's a few moments before they hear from Heather Franks, one of the botanists, though, and when she does, she sounds worried. "Sirs? Jerry's not looking so good."

"Lorne, I need you to dial back, get Keller out here and prep for quarantined re-entry. Could be nothing, but I think we've got a situation developing."

"Yes sir," Lorne answers unquestioningly, and it's a mild relief. There will be plenty of questions later. The set of John's shoulders doesn't let him think otherwise, nor does his expression when he taps his radio off.

"Okay. We're going to need to get you closer to the gate. You going to be okay to walk?"

Ronon tries to answer, but his throat is dry, parched, and it's answer enough, and John goes back to the radio, then grabs his hand. "Tell them to bring stretchers. How's Lieutenant Halverson doing?"

"Deteriorating," Franks says. "Having trouble swallowing and breathing."

Lorne's already telling Keller to send field stretchers through, and it's only a few seconds before John says that he sees them coming. Ronon's not seeing much of anything, he's turned entirely inward, now, trying to keep breathing, trying not to panic, because whatever this thing is, it's trying to kill him. He's not going to make it any easier.

There's a blip on the radio, and Franks is terrified, now, her voice a panic as she says that Halverson's lost consciousness, that he's not breathing, but John reaches down, yanks Ronon's earpiece out before he can hear more.

Ronon doesn't have the words to thank him. He already knows what's coming, can feel it at the edges, but he tries to focus on John's face, finds that the world's gone a shade or two darker and he didn't notice the sun setting. There's something at his mouth, his canteen, and it's cool, cold, but his throat can't decide if it wants air or water more.

He must have moved, because John pulls away, slightly. He's talking, but Ronon hasn't heard a word over the ringing in his ears.

"…coming, just hold on…with me, okay? Don't….talk to her when we get back… almost here…Ronon?"

He's tired, wishes John would calm down, it's fine, but it hurts, and he should say goodbye, because this is just another losing fight, and he can't even feel John's hand any more.

\---

 _Ronon's dying because you didn't stop._

Four hazmat-suited doctors arrive, and he helps them ease Ronon on to the stretcher. There's oxygen, but apparently his throat's closed, and they're pulling out the trach kit, and he's seen this done in the field before, and it's horrible but he can't take his eyes away. They're cutting into Ronon's throat and he hasn't even told them what's wrong yet and-

There's a tube in his throat and it's horrible, but not nearly as horrible as seeing Ronon's chest _jump_ with his first breath.

John wonders how much time, exactly, it bought them, but they're already rushing back towards the gate. He's dimly aware of the other team heading back, much more slowly.

Halverson's dead.

 _Deal with it later_.

The jumper's waiting on the ground and they load Ronon inside, placing him on the floor next to Halverson's covered stretcher. John thinks he's going to have to fight for it, but Keller waves him inside, along with Doctor Franks and the rest of Keller's team. They're going to containment, she's explaining. Lorne and his team are staying behind to monitor the situation, and up past the control panel, the gate room's come into view, sinking as the jumper rises, up through the bay and out to the west pier's auxiliary medical bay.

Keller makes a startled sound, and John swivels his head to find Ronon blinking up at the ceiling of the jumper, confused and starting to panic, but Keller gets there first, gets him to look at her, and the mere fact that he _can_ kicks John's lungs into gear.

He's still terrified, but Ronon's still breathing. He'll take the trade.

\---

He has to go through decon, and it seems like forever before Keller comes through to see him, but she's smart, and "He's fine" are the first words out of her mouth, so he shuts up and lets her look him over as she listens to his breathing.

"We got him under a scanner, and I'm not lying, it looks like it was close. The inflammation in his throat's starting to go down already, but we're keeping him on a ventilator to be on the safe side. He was awake when I left, but needs to rest."

"What else?" Through the mask, he can see the worry in her eyes.

"The scan didn't show anything, nothing at all," she admits, moving the stethoscope, telling him to inhale and listening, for a moment, gloved fingers on his throat. "We're running his blood work now, and his initial physical-" she breaks off, then, and it's obvious what she wants to say next.

She can feel him swallow, and she nods. Finishes the preliminaries, and says, "If you want, Doctor Beckett's back from the mainland. He's monitoring Ronon right now, but I can have him come in and finish your examination."

How she's managing this without blushing, John can't tell.

"He knows too, doesn't he?"

"Him, myself, and Doctor Mehrata. Two nurses, too, but before you ask, this all falls under patient confidentiality."

"Okay. Thanks. Um. " John sighs. Calling Beckett in will only cause another delay, so he pulls his robe down, left shoulder first. "Let's just get this over with."

\---

He's tying his boots when the door chimes. It's Keller, and Beckett's in tow. More to the point, they're both still in their cleansuits, and they're both looking concerned.

 _This can't be good._

"Colonel, I'm afraid I must inform you that we're going to have to keep you under quarantine."

"You found something in my blood, didn't you?'

"Well," Keller glances at Beckett, no doubt looking for backup, and says. "It's just going in to be analyzed right now, but. We checked in with Lorne. He says that nobody else has reported in sick. Right now, it's just Ronon."

"That's." _Good_ isn't the word he's looking for.

"The thing is, and we'll need to do an autopsy to confirm it, but Doctor Halvorson seems to have suffered the same symptoms as Ronon."

"Okay, but-"

"And you're sharing certain symptoms with Doctor Franks," Keller says delicately, staring past his shoulder, and he _gets_ it, she doesn't need to dance around it so much, not in here.

"So you're saying this has something to do with it?" Of course it did, it makes sense. Well, it makes sense in the usual nonsensical way. "But I feel fine."

"And that's excellent," Carson reassures him. "But until we know more…"

"Right." John leans back against the examination table, but it's all the defeat he's willing to show. "Okay. Let me know when the next dial-in happens, I have to talk to Lorne. In the meantime, can someone bring me a computer? I still have work to do."

"We're setting up rooms for both Doctor Franks and yourself," Carson says, and any remaining illusion that this isn't as bad as it seems is ripped away. "We'll need you to suit up for the transfer, but you'll be more comfortable once you get there."

Finally, John can ask. "How's Ronon doing?"

"He's resting, but we're still waiting on his blood work. I'll-" Keller turns again to Beckett, and after a moment, he's the one to continue.

"We'll let you know when anything changes. If you like, once you've suited up, we can take you by to see him for a wee bit." He wants to say more, that much is obvious, but he shakes it off.

\---

John's there when he opens his eyes again, and it seems like it's been a long time since he's seen him, but Ronon can't be sure. John's dressed like the rest of the doctors, wearing the same red suit.

Ronon's hazardous material, then. Weak as he feels, it's almost funny.

"Hey buddy," John says, and Ronon knows he can't answer him, not with whatever they've done to his throat, but he twitches his fingers in his direction, tries to make it a question, but thinks John misses it.

"You scared the hell out of us back there," John says, and it's hard to read his face through the mask, but his eyes are intense and burning, and he doesn't look like he's joking. He's not even amused. There's things he's not saying, and if Ronon could lift his head to see, maybe he'd find others there. Doctors, maybe, or nurses, and if they'd leave, maybe things would be different.

"They're taking me to quarantine," John continues, and then he's jerking his head to the left, and the noise that Ronon had been hearing finally translates. They've got him on a monitor, probably more than one, and his startled worry has probably registered there.

"I'm fine," John promises. "It's just a precaution. Soon as they have this figured out, I'll be back." There's a murmur somewhere in the room, and John's looking over his shoulder, nodding.

"Gotta go. Take it easy, and I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

"Yeah," Ronon says, regretting it immediately as his throat tears open, but John's actually smiling back through his mask when he leaves. But he still leaves, and Ronon hasn't said anything important, yet.

Hasn't told him that he still doesn't understand, that they haven't told him anything. That there might be a connection between what happened on the mission, and what happened next, though John's probably figured that much out. But he hasn't told him how fucked it had felt, and how _right_ , all at once. Hasn't told him how screwed they would have been if the wraith had come through, or maybe he did, he can't remember. Hasn't told him how close he'd come, how surprised he'd been to open his eyes again. How terrifying it was that Beckett didn't seem to know what was going on, how frustrating. Hasn't told him that he wants him to stay, even though it's not the sort of thing he'd normally say, but today- it is still today? It's been long and strange and he can't understand any of it.

John's gone now, and Ronon hasn't told him how angry he is.

\---

It takes the doctors over a day to find the problem in the blood, and though it doesn't do much for John, at least Lorne and the rest are allowed back into the city.

Between the lack of sleep and the blood that's probably been drained from him in the infirmary, Lorne looks exhausted when he appears on the other side of John's window. More importantly, though, he tells John that nobody else seems to be showing signs.

"It's weird. Far as anyone can tell, the gardens, and all the samples they took from the area directly surrounding the village, well. Those were clean, for the most part, but past that? Out in the fields? There's something to it."

"Think it's why original inhabitants cleared out?"

Lorne's face darkens even more, and it's more than mere exhaustion. "No. We found some bodies. Whatever it is, we think this is what _killed_ the original inhabitants. "

"Well that's just. Peachy," John says, and changes the subject. Ten minutes later, maybe fifteen, and he's officially handed control of the city over. Another five minutes after that, though, and what he's _really_ been dreading occurs. Woolsey sits down, and John already knows what his first words will be, he's known since yesterday.

"I've got some questions concerning your report," he begins, as soon as the small talk is over with, and leans over his notepad. "What were you and Ronon doing over on the south hill?"

"It provided the best vantage point of the gate and the village. Franks and Halvorson were flanking the other side of the village for the same reason."

"Yes. About them. Did you have any contact with them once you split off from the rest of the expedition?"

"Only by radio, and even then, not much. It was quiet, up until everything went to hell."

"Same as it ever was," Woolsey smiles, and John wants to like him, he really does, but it's impossible, right now, because he's finally worked up to it. "Before the obvious, did you notice anything strange?"

And here's where John could tell the truth, and here's where he could lie.

\---


	3. Chapter 2

Ronon's been quarantined for two days when they finally take the respirator out, and it hurts like hell, but he's still breathing at the end of it.

But he's not allowed to leave, not yet. He has to wait for the latest batch of test results to come back, and they're going to want him under a scanner again, because it's what these people live for.

What they would do without it, Ronon doesn't want to guess, but Keller explains the fascination. "You see, back home? On Earth? We don't have anything like this. There isn't a hospital on the planet that wouldn't kill to get their hands on one. So yes, while it's a drag for you, we get some excitement out of it."

"So why don't you share it with the rest of your world?" Ronon asks, but Keller goes silent, then, and it's apparent that he's hit a nerve.

McKay comes to visit, and it's strange that he's the only one from the team, but Torrren's just getting over the flu, so Teyla's banned from the entire western pier, and John's in quarantine himself, which is stupid, because it's a _different_ quarantine, and if they were going to catch something off of one another, wait. They already had.

"So the word on the street is that they might let you back into the general population," McKay says. "I take it you're feeling better?"

"Yeah." Damn, but his voice sounds rough. Hurts, too, but at least it's working. It's his second throat injury in a year, and it's got to have taken some sort of toll. "Talk to John?"

"Yes, and he sends his regards. I didn't tell him you were getting out, I figure you'd want to visit him. They've got him in this room with a window. It's like visiting him in prison, only there isn't…" McKay shrugs. "You know, if you're about to be released anyway, these suits are probably stupid, right?"

Ronon shrugs, he wants to hear more about John, but part of him wants to agree.

"So. You're doing all right? Better?"

"Yeah."

"That's weird. I mean, it's good, but. They're still trying to figure out why you four. Three, whatever, were the only ones to get hit." Ronon's got his suspicions, but the doctors haven't told him anything useful, nobody has. Keller and Beckett aside, he's been sticking to the "thought I was out in the sun too long" story himself, though. At least he knows he's even with the world.

Eventually, McKay's waved out of the room when Keller comes in, and Ronon can hear her telling him that yes, since Ronon's tests have come back and the virus is breaking down in his system, and that they've determined that he's no longer contagious, they're going to move him back to the infirmary.

"We want to keep John in a bit longer," she says, though. "His tests came back positive for the virus, and though it hasn't hit him, yet, it hasn't broken down, either."

"What's that mean?"

"I'm hoping that he has a natural immunity, though I don't see how he could. To be honest, we got lucky, here. It's going away on it's own."

It's the sort of thing that he's growing accustomed to hearing, so he lets her explain it without really listening, describing how the virus acts as she'd expect, but looks unlike any other virus she's familiar with. He's learned to appreciate luck, when he has it, and too relieved to pay closer attention.

It's not until later that he thinks he should have.

\---

All John can feel, besides the thirst and the heat, is that he could have prevented this. Could have stopped it, if he'd tried.

A year and a half of being _so_ damned careful, keeping Ronon off the radar, using the life signs detector to plot a course from his rooms, not smiling too much, is falling apart. On the other side of the glass, Woolsey is suspecting everything, that much is obvious, talking about it without talking about it, and it almost makes it worse.

John can't concentrate, now, on shoring up his defense. Can't deflect what's not coming straight at him. Can't concentrate on anything because he's burning up from the inside out.

There was a point where he could have stopped it, but he's past it, now. He nods in response to whatever Woolsey said last and slaps on his radio to call for the nurse.

\---

Ronon has about fifteen minutes to appreciate the fact that he's back in the infirmary with the rest of the non-contagious people, that he's not having to read faces through hazmat masks. It disappears in an instant, though, when he notices the change happening. At first, nobody's talking, but then, finally, Keller walks by and she's dressed in red again.

He listens to the others talk, figures out that Carson's already on the west pier with John, and that Keller's on her way. There's no way they'd _both_ be going if it was just an issue of test results.

His throat still hurts, but it's the nurses who won't tell him anything directly.

Won't tell him if John's okay, and he's getting out of the bed, because he's got to know, he just _does_ , and _this_ , it turns out, is what it takes to get them to talk, but they're only using their voices to order him back to bed, promising that he's well enough for tranquilizers, now.

So he goes back to bed, and tries not to think of the thousand horrible things that could be happening while he just sits there.

\---

Finally, an hour or so later, Keller returns, and he can ask. "What's up?"

"He's dehydrated and running a fever, but it's not coming on nearly as strongly as we initially worried, and that's a good sign. Right now we're monitoring him, and looking at the possibility of natural immunities. The results had us scared, and the fever is cause for concern, but we've given him medicine to combat it, and a drip to combat dehydration."

Ronon doesn't understand all of this, he needs a minute to think, but Keller's talking again. "He asked about you, though. Doesn't want you to worry, and _hey_." She's smiling at him. "We caught it early, so don't worry, okay? He's fine."

"Can I see him?"

\---

He's pretty sure he's blacked out, at least for a little while, and his head is killing him. The lights are too blinding to open his eyes more than a bit, but there's a chime at the window, so he tries.

"Ronon?" Reaching over, he grabs his radio from the table next to the bed and tries, again, to focus.

"Hey." He's dressed in blue scrubs, and there's a white bandage on his neck. It's bright against his skin and hurts to look at, but he wants to stand, cross the room, get closer. But the glass would still be there, anyway. "Good to see you're doin' better."

The white patch falls into shadow briefly and reappears. Probably doesn't feel much like talking, all things considered, but he tries.

"You okay?"

"Got dizzy there, for a minute, and I'm still overheated, but I think it's under control," he admits, because if he can convince Ronon, maybe he can convince his body.

Ronon's frozen on the other side of the glass, probably detecting the lie, but he doesn't know what to do about it, doesn't move.

Suarez and Kowalczek are standing guard, and John's not sure what channel he's broadcasting on, but there's a lot he needs to say.

 _Do you know what's going on?_

We were careless, back there.

I didn't tell Woolsey anything, but don't think I convinced him.

I'm glad you're okay.

The room's swimming again, the world's becoming small.

 _Why aren't I?_

\---

Ronon's still blinking John's expression out of his eyes when the doctors push past him again, and while they're in the anteroom suiting up, he's suddenly pressed close against the window, watching as John's arm dangles off the side of the bed and goes still.

There's time for too many breaths before the doctors swarm into the room, surrounding John's bed. They're trying to get him breathing again, and he doesn't notice the movement, doesn't hear anyone make the command, but suddenly Beckett's on the other side of the window, rolling a screen across, blocking his view.

A moment later, his radio goes silent. They've switched channels. Cut him out.

So he waits.

Judging by the expression on Beckett's face, he wasn't expecting to find him still standing there. "He's sleeping," is all he says at first, blotting his sweaty face with his shirt sleeve, beckoning Ronon to follow. "Franks went under too, but she's stabilized."

"Gonna be okay?" Ronon lets himself be ushered into the transporter, watches Beckett send them back to the main infirmary.

"I don't know," Beckett says, not looking at him as the doors open.

The infirmary had been calm, before this, but now they're worried, trying to figure out what they misread.

Ronon's convinced that he's still contagious, that there'd been a mistake, but the nurses throw him back under the scanner and find nothing.

"Besides," Keller says. "If you'd passed it on, we'd be seeing other people with symptoms."

"So what's the problem?"

"The virus? It's not a virus, it's something else."

"Nanites?" Ronon guesses.

"No, but it's not far off. We think it might be a fungus, but it's one we've never-"

"Seen before. Right." One of the nurses brings him another cup of ice chips, then, and Keller needs to get back to work. Before she goes, she asks him how he's feeling, and he shrugs and nods. There's nothing wrong, not out here, and even sitting for hours on the bed he's assigned, he feels like he's in the way.

\---

Teyla's rushing down the hall to meet him when he's released the next day, and she falls into step next to him without saying a word. He needs to ask what she knows, what she's heard. Needs her to talk. Everything else he'd want to say can wait. Teyla's Teyla. She gets it.

She opens the window in his room, just enough to give the illusion of freedom, or maybe just to let the air in, and sits in his chair, watching him move around the room. She's waiting until he settles, and when he realizes it, he sits down on his bed, suddenly tired, though he's barely moved in days.

She starts by telling him that everyone has been quite concerned, and relieved that he's feeling himself again. She doesn't finish by telling him that she knows what is going on. "How are you feeling?" she asks instead, and it's the tenth time he's heard the question today, but he's so far from knowing how to answer that it's almost funny. Terrified. Alone. Stupid. Clueless. Worried. He doesn't know anything, nobody does, and nobody's been able to give him any good news to pass along. He can't even give Teyla an answer. Pretends it's his throat that's bothering him when he doesn't speak, and he lies down.

She's at his bedside in an instant, kneeling down to eye level, concern clear on her face.

"I think he's dying," he says, and it's stupid to try and hide it, because she's watching him from less than two feet away and she's seeing everything. "Think it's my fault."

"Why would you think such a thing?"

It's Teyla. He can tell her.

"Mission the other day," whispering isn't as hard on his throat, and hell, this isn't the sort of thing he's supposed to talk out loud about, anyway.

Security details weren't McKay's job, and Teyla had been staying home with Torren, so it had just been Ronon and John joining the other team on the mission out to M93-287, where the botanists had discovered a plant that they promised was fascinating, apparently based on the fact that it grew everywhere, soil, rock, brick, even in the dark abandoned rooms of the village.

Plants grew everywhere in the wake people left behind. It hadn't been interesting, not even a little bit.

But it had been pleasant, quiet for once. Uneventful, and it had felt like summer.

"Everything was fine. Good. But I let my guard down, so Sheppard did too, and we got, ah. Distracted. Knew something was off, but it never occurred to me to do anything about it."

Teyla's eyebrows are up to her hairline. Two years, she's known about them almost from the start, but she's never known them to abandon their duties on a mission. It would be funny, if the story weren't what it was. If it had a better ending.

\---

He doesn't feel like eating, but he lets Teyla drag him out to the mess. He's allowed soup, and applesauce, ice chips and jello, but the food on her tray doesn't look any more appetizing, either, and he can only finish about half of what's on his plate.

Around him, people are staring. He can feel it, like he can feel John _not_ jostling him for elbow room at the table, the way he's supposed to be, and it's different than it is when John's in a meeting, or running 302 drills, or even when he's in the infirmary.

Because he isn't in the infirmary, not technically. He's locked in a room on the far edge of the city, and even if the entire areas wasn't off limits without Beckett's orders, he still couldn't get within twelve feet of him.

Teyla sure they will tell them as soon as they hear anything, but when McKay sits down to join them, even _he's_ heard nothing.

And maybe it's just the lack of news, or the fact that he's talked to Teyla, told her everything, but he can't stop feeling that they should have sat at a different table, not their usual one by the balcony. It's dark outside, and he wants to keep his eyes on the water, but all he sees is the mess hall, reflected. Twice as many eyes, then, all on him.

\---

John wakes some time in the night. Nobody tells Ronon until the next morning, when Lorne addresses the whole city. Afterwards, when Ronon catches Keller heading down the hallway, asks if he can see John, she looks exhausted and hopeless when she tells him "maybe later."

She makes good on her word, though, later that afternoon. She tells him he'll have a turn to say goodbye.

\---

Carson's the one to tell him the plan, and John almost wishes he didn't know. If it has to happen, he doesn't want to see it coming. Doesn't want to lie here and wait for it. Doesn't want to wake up to find that everything he cared about died a thousand years ago while he slept.

But he doesn't want to die, much, himself either.

There are a few hours left.

 _What would you do if you only had a few hours left to live?_ The question never took into account the likely fact that by the time you'd gotten to that point, you were probably stuck in a hospital bed.

 _Ronon, in the sunlight, away from all this and smiling_.

It was a nice thought, he'd hold onto it. In the meantime, though, there were things he had to do.

"I need to talk to everybody. My team. Lorne. Woolsey. You can make that happen?"

"Aye, no problem," Carson says, and the fact that he's not making a scene about it makes John want to kiss the man, even though it is an admittedly late addition to his bucket list.

Carson backs out of the room, but there's a nurse standing sentry by the door, so John can't freak out.

The drugs are working enough to mute the pain, but they're packing his head with cement, and coming up with the list of things that need to be done seems to take hours.

Lorne will take over, he'll need access to John's files. Passwords.

Woolsey still hasn't figured out how to deal with Teyla, yet, let alone Ronon. Doesn't know that she knows exactly what her limits are, or that Ronon sometimes needs them laid out. Woolsey needs to know.

He wishes Ronon were in here. It's not like it should be too much to ask, at this point, but it can't happen. He'd take him down with him, not just kill him. Because while John doesn't have to worry about his reputation any more, Ronon will still be here next week, with nobody to run interference.

He should have made himself get his head together, back in the field by the settlement. Should have called everyone back to the gate. It was John's bad call that led them here. He's not going to compound it.

\---

Three years knowing John, two years _being_ with him, and he's allotted the same five minutes as everyone else.

It's not fucking fair, but he's being uncharitable, thinking like that, and he knows it. Franks went into stasis an hour ago, and she'd gone alone, with only the medical staff to see her off.

He waits impatiently for his turn, tries not to fiddle with the cleansuit's closures. Lorne, Teyla and McKay have already had theirs, and Woolsey will join them in the observation room when she's done with his.

Finally, Hamilton, who's standing guard, gives a curt nod and glances at him before he punches the controls, opening the door.

John's slipped even more than he'd expected, and all his anger at being last in line, at being the one most likely to be cheated of precious time, evaporates, because he's _last_. He's the one to sit there while this actually happens. Beckett's doing, then, maybe Keller's. He gets it, now.

John does, too, struggling to open bleary eyes when he feels the mattress shift as Ronon sits next to him. "I'm going to be slipping into a coma in a bit, here, so."

"Yeah?" If John wasn't afraid, Ronon didn't have to be, either. That's how they'd play this. He leaned in a bit closer, straining to hear.

"You're going to stay, right? The city."

"What?" Truth be told, Ronon hasn't thought about it, yet, but it's clear that John's ahead of him.

"You don't _have_ to, I'm just. I'd like it if you did."

He doesn't know how long John's been worried about this, never had the chance to ask, before now, and now that he does, Ronon's finding that he doesn't want to talk about it. "You'll still be here," should be answer enough, but John's rocking his head back and forth.

"I'll be in a box." He's trying to stay awake, but he's starting to slip. "Doesn't count."

"Don't care. I'm staying."

"Good. Lorne. Talk to him. Woolsey too, I never. And go easy on Caldwell…don't let him give McKay too much shit." John coughs, then, the words having robbed him of his breath, and it's rattling and weak and wracks his frame. "Ack. This sucks." He grimaces when Ronon runs a hand along his side but grasps his arm through the plastic of the suit. His grip isn't as strong as it should be. Feels like he's letting go already. Like he knows he's held on long enough.

"They'll figure this out."

John nods, his eyes barely open. It's just as well that Ronon can't take the helmet off, take the entire suit off, feel John's skin against his. There's an audience watching from the observation room, and Beckett is still standing by the door, and it's they're the most unfair thing in the world, those eyes, because it shouldn't matter any more. Not now.

He supposes he should feel grateful that Woolsey ordered the room's microphones to be shut off, that he'd left his earpiece in the locker room, but it's not enough to look through the mask at John, whose eyes aren't open anymore. It's not enough to feel him through the gloves.

John's breathing is slowing, according to the machines, and they're running out of time.

"Love you. I'll be here when you wake up," he says, and John's grip tightens on his arm faintly, the only answer he can make.

He doesn't feel it when John finally loses consciousness. It's not until Beckett steps forward that it even occurs to him to move.

\---

It's hard to convince himself that he isn't walking into a funeral, once the suit is gone and he's joining the small procession towards the stasis chambers. It's silent when they arrive, and nobody looks at anyone, but Teyla's at his side, her arm pressed against his, even though there's plenty of space.

They watch, through the glass, as Keller and Beckett move John into the stasis chamber, and a minute or two later, the field goes up, the door closes. Beckett enters the final commands, and it's over with.

John's frozen, absolutely still, and Ronon's head knows that he's not dead, but he doesn't believe it.

Teyla's still standing next to him, but she's the last, everyone else has receded down the hallway again. Fights himself for a few moments, stops himself from calling Beckett back to check the controls again. Inside the room, the decontamination crew is at work, erasing the last traces of the contagion from the air, and part of him is terrified, watching them work. They might be erasing the last of John, too. They might bump one of the controls, hit a button, dislodge a crystal, kill John without knowing it.

Eventually, though, they're finished as well, and the lights shut off when they shut the door. If it wasn't for Teyla's gentle shove, he's not sure he'd be able to leave. John's chamber is bright silvery yellow in the dark of the room, and it will stay that way.

\---

Morning comes, and he hasn't slept.

Beckett says it wasn't _actually_ a coma, but it wasn't far off, either, towards the end. He does say that they knew where they were wrong. It wasn't a virus, not in the traditional sense. It was plant spores, a new type, something they'd never encountered before. They'd had no way to predict it, and no way to treat it.

The most optimistic thing to come out of either doctor's mouth is when Keller says, "it was close, but we don't think the spores directly interacted with his brain. Losing consciousness was a secondary response."

Ronon doesn't hear another word for the rest of the meeting. Doesn't speak for the rest of the day, and nobody tries to make him.

\---

"Do you know what he wants to discuss with us?"

"Whatever it is, it can't be good," McKay mutters, raising his eyebrows in Ronon's direction.

Lorne is in Woolsey's office when they enter, but his expression's unreadable as they position themselves around the room.

"I'll get right to it," Woolsey sighs. "I've just had a hardliner discussion with Doctors Keller and Beckett, and they've agreed that it will take some time to find a treatment for Doctor Franks and Colonel Sheppard."

Teyla nods. "This is what we've expected, is it not?"

"True, but that leaves us with a _meantime_ , and, like it or not, we must ensure a turn to some semblance of normality, with minimal fuss. As things stand now, we will need to reorganize our offworld team structure. Now, I've taken the opportunity to make some changes. As ranking officer on the base, Lorne will only accompany teams on offworld missions as are deemed absolutely necessary. Beyond that, however, and at his insistence, I would like to cause as little disruption as possible. He's come up with a sort list for a rep- _substitute_ to cover Colonel Sheppard's position. I would like the three of you to come back with your final selection first thing tomorrow morning."

And there is. Ronon's known this was coming, but as Lorne begins listing the names, he thinks he misses half of them. After a few moments of discussion, McKay nods, and Teyla turns back to Woolsey. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

"No, I'll leave you to it." They're dismissed, but as he pushes himself up out of his chair, Woolsey asks, "Ronon, can you hold up a moment?"

He couldn't stand now anyway, not with the dread crashing over him. Teyla shoots him a glance as she leaves, and the door slides shut behind her. "Yeah?"

"Perhaps because of the strange nature of the case, and the fact that have so far come to light, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't address all of them. I assume you've got some sense of where I'm going with this?"

Ronon nods. He can't speak. He can't afford to give anything away.

"There are assumptions being made, based on the medical findings at hand, and…I'll just come straight to the point. By Doctor Franks' own admission, she and Lieutenant Halverson have been in a relationship for quite some time. I can only assume that Colonel Sheppard did not know of this when he assigned them their posts, and right now, they are not the point, beyond the fact that it's come to light in the fashion it did. Perhaps, however, because of this, and the similarity of your conditions…" Woolsey trails off. He's going to make Ronon say it.

"People think me and Sheppard are together?"

"I have evidence that on this occasion, at least, this is the case." It's almost a relief to hear it, truth be told, but it's no less unsettling. "And beyond that, I really should not know. Also, I should tell you that there have been cases before of similar indiscretions occurring with off-world teams, though you would be hard pressed to find them in the official reports."

"Why's that?"

"On Earth, the stargate program is conducted in secrecy. Those who are involved are therefore quite adept at necessary obfuscation. What remains is the rumor, and while unpleasant, rumors tend to fade with time, as long as nothing occurs to give them more weight."

"It's not an issue," Ronon says, and Woolsey regards him carefully for a moment and then nods.

"Unless we make it one." He clears his throat. "Now. Major Lorne drafted the report and summary, and while he is usually succinct, he's actually reached levels of laconicism previously seen only in your field reports. The medical reports, however, are slightly more complicated. Personal medical files are confidential, but the research will be shared with the SGC. Names are withheld as a matter of course, and discussion of the secondary transmission is minimized, merely described as physical contact."

"Okay."

"I have, however, given permission to Doctors Beckett and Keller to talk with the SGC doctors about their findings, off the record." He leans back in his chair, finally finished.

"Okay. Why are you telling me all this?"

"I don't want my people walking around with the sword of Damocles hanging-" he catches himself. "Because as Teyla said, Colonel Sheppard's illness is destabilizing enough on it's own, and we don't need to add to it. And because you'd never ask of your own volition."

\---

He leaves it up to the others, since McKay's the one most likely to take issue with the selection, and Teyla's the one most likely to get him to actually choose.

His feet take him to the infirmary. He needs to see for himself that someone, somewhere, isn't just moving on, yet. That they're still working on saving him, that they're not as powerless against this as he is.

John always said that they don't leave people behind, but he's left Ronon. Left all of them.

"Ronon?" Carson looks up from his microscope, the question clear in his eyes. "You okay, lad?"

"Have you found anything?"

"Well," Carson's eyes dart away, briefly. "We're working on some things, right now. Re-examining the bodies. Halverson, and the remains we recovered from the planet. We're hoping that if we can see how the spores progress, we can get ahead of them, before they have the chance to develop into a full-grown plant."

Part of Ronon wants to see, but it's morbid to ask. Won't help.

"What're you finding?"

"Give me a minute," Carson stands up, nods for Ronon to follow. When they're in the corridor again, he continues. "I have to talk to the botanists again, before I say anything official, but they're having a hard time with the subject matter. They're not accustomed to…"

"Right."

"Well. Doctor Brown thinks that the original host," he nods at Ronon, "is heavily infected to ensure transmission to the secondary host. She says it's likely that the secondary hosts exhibit symptoms at a much slower rate, allowing them to carry the spores over a wider geographical area, before it overtakes them."

"Guess that makes sense," Ronon sighs, realizing he hasn't answered his question. "So why did I get better?"

"As far as we can tell, you probably came in contact with the mature spores first. We can't tell if it's through touch or inhalation at this point, but we think it's the latter. They spread throughout your central nervous and endocrine systems, as well as several others. When they reached your pituitary they." Carson stumbles, trying to find the means to explain it. "They affected the chemical change necessary to create new spores. However, since the initial attack was weakening your system, they needed to move on, to find a new host. It is likely that they've adapted to make use of the host's central nervous system, either finding or creating impulses. When you came in contact with John, they were transferred, and the young spores took residence in his system."

"So why did I get _better_?" Ronon asks again, frustrated.

"Because the spores died soon after transmission. Their work was done, even before we got you breathing again. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for them to make their way out of your system."

"So why can't you do the same thing for Sheppard?"

"Because he was infected with new spores, still growing, it's."

"What?"

"Left unattended, they grow into mature PLANTS/arrays, feeding off the host. It's likely that every plant on the planet is growing where it is because it's where the host died. Some were moved to the burial, which preserved them, and the remains are quite unpleasant."

"So. John's got these in his system?"

"Yes, and worse, they had some time to develop. But they're in stasis as well, and the moment we release him from the chamber, we've got to be sure that we can get ahead of them before they get any worse."

"And how's that coming?"

"Trying to find something that will kill them, without killing the host won't be easy. But don't worry, we're not going to stop looking." Carson's grim, but he meets his eye, promising, and Ronon's just hoping it's one he can keep.

\---

In the morning, he's tired, and he forgets. It's not until John doesn't open his door that he remembers.

Ronon runs anyway.

\---

It's been two weeks when the Earth contingent arrives. O'Neill comes, but he's got with him a general that Ronon's never met and half of the IOA. There's a reception, of sorts, where they make it known that they're there to assess how Atlantis is dealing with the change in leadership, though they never come out and say it outright, and then they spend two days locked in meetings in Woolsey's office, and nobody tells him anything at all.

Lorne, when he catches him in the hallway, says that he's passed his assessment, but beyond that, it's just details. Bureaucratic nonsense and standard procedure, nothing to worry about, but Lorne has to go back into the conference room for another meeting, and Ronon doesn't see him for three days.

He's just coming out from the gym when he hears the announcement that the IOA is leaving, but he doesn't bother to go see them off. It's not like his presence is required, anyhow. It's only later that he finds out that Beckett's gone with them. He's coordinating the response for some epidemic a galaxy away.

\---

John's music player is still in Ronon's room where he left it, and some nights, he presses the buttons until music comes out, tries to block out the sound of his own harsh breathing. Hearing the voices singing helps, but they're recordings, singing to the universe. They're not talking directly to him, because nobody does, not any more.

In the morning, he wakes with the earphones still in, and it won't turn on again. It's dead. He throws it against the wall when he realizes, and it cracks across the front.

It's not until later that he figures out that there's a charging device, still plugged into the wall in John's room, but by then it doesn't matter. He never gets to hold onto things that he wants for very long.

Ronon puts it on the shelf next to the small vase he found in what had used to be his mother's house. It's small and plastic and ugly, but he stares at it for hours, anyway.

\---

Keller brings Kate Brown in to consult, and it's mortifying to know that there's yet _another_ person that Ronon's supposed to trust, who knows more than anyone's allowed to admit.

He can only understand every sixth word out of her mouth, gets that she's talking about how amazing that it is, this form of fungal reproduction and yeah, it's vaguely interesting, but John's frozen in a box down at the base of the main tower, so if she could just stop _grinning_ , so much, about the wonderful scientific discovery, that would be great.

Maybe it's pique, but he makes her take him in to look at the bodies, under the guise of wanting to know more about the hyphae things she's mentioned seven or eighteen times.

There was no way he would have recognized several of the things they're studying as being human- not the ones they've recovered, anyway. From one angle, he can almost see the structure of a collar, the slope of a throat, but he's not even sure he's looking at the right thing.

It's the same for Doctor Brown, too, because she holds up well enough until they get to Halvorson's body, so she can point out the thing she calls an appressorium. There are a hundred of them, not just growing over Halvorson's body, but pushing up through the mottled skin. She's disgusted by it, too, but that fact doesn't make Ronon feel any better when he leaves.

\---

By the time Ronon is cleared for duty, McKay and Teyla had decided to take on Lieutenant Dwyer as their fourth.

The first job runs rough, but they're manage to stop the culling , and Dwyer is a good choice, even if Ronon doesn't like him as much as he did when he was just someone he ran drills with. He's a good fighter, Ronon's known it for years, now, and knows his job, but he's not John.

It's nothing major. He deals.

\---

Teyla's got Torren, and Kanaan, and beyond sparring and lunch in the mess three days a week, he doesn't see her much. She looks tired, most of the time, these days.

McKay's around the infirmary almost as much as Ronon is. He's got a thing for Keller, it's painfully obvious, now. It's the sort of thing that John would find hilarious.

By the time he gets out of there, Ronon's not sure if he'll recognize any of them, and if Ronon takes it out on the Marines, they're not complaining, at least until Ronon accidentally breaks Cohen's arm when they're sparring.

It's an accident, no hard feelings, but that night, there's still nobody there to yell at him for it.

It's been a month since Keller took over the investigation, and he tries not to stop by every day any more, because he's tired of seeing the resignation in her eyes.

\---

He stays because he promised he would, and it was the last thing he said around here that meant anything at all.

It's not easy. Not when Dwyer orders him back to his post in the empty warehouse when there are wraith closing on McKay's position. Not when they get back after Ronon's ignored the order, and he tries to convince him that the crashed dart he'd been guarding was _worth_ it.

Later, Lorne explains that Dwyer's not John, like Ronon needed it spelled out, but his eyes are tired, and Ronon gets it, suddenly. Lorne's not trying to tell him something he already knew, he's telling him that he _agrees_.

So he stays. Beats the crap out of Dwyer in the gym, and decides that it makes him feel better.

\---

Ronon's tracing the edges of the city, the longer route that he's preferred ever since running alone, when it happens. He doesn't find out until he's coming through the door again and MacKay's waving him down.

He takes a shower, anyway. They doctors are working, actually _working_ , and no one's going to be allowed in there for a few hours anyway. Tries to eat breakfast and lunch, but he can't swallow around the hope in his throat.

Teyla joins him in the gym, equally anxious to fight some of her tension away, but neither of them can focus, and five minutes later, they're just sitting on one of the mats, listening to their radios and waiting.

He doesn't even realize that he's holding onto Teyla's hand-probably too tightly- until Kanaan comes in, but he smiles and has Torren asleep in his arms, and sits down to shore up Teyla's other side.

\---

It's McKay's voice on the radio that breaks the news.

"Teyla, Ronon? Get your asses down to the infirmary. It _worked_."

\---


	4. Chapter # & Epilogue

John wakes up feeling like hell, but after Keller, the first face he sees is Woolsey. It's nice to see him, though he can't help asking himself _they woke me up for this?_

Finally, though, Woolsey's stepping aside, and John can see Teyla, Lorne, McKay and Ronon surrounding his bed him. Mostly Ronon, but he keeps his eyes moving over the group.

"We're glad you're okay…" Lorne's saying, but John nods his way through the preamble. They've all been through this conversation before, he already knows what everyone's going to say, already knows that having that much focused attention on him makes him want to cringe, a little. He wants to get this all over with.

The third or fourth pass, he notes that the bandage on Ronon's throat is gone, and there's just another scar, there, in the hollow of his throat.

"It's hasn't been two months yet," McKay jokingly complains. "I owe Zelenka a week's pay. I mean, seriously, you were fine in stasis. Would it have killed them to put it off a week?"

Ronon growls, but he's close to laughing, though there's something off. The smile's not fitting on his face the way it usually does. He's happy, though, his eyes are warm as he briefly clasps his arm when Keller kicks them all out. He probably doesn't even know that it's there.

Either that, or the drugs winding through his system have him seeing things.

John worries about what he thinks he saw until Ronon comes back, alone this time, and finds out that mostly, it was just the distance. The extra few inches he's allowed when there aren't any chaperones alleviate most of it, but there's still the two months that John didn't have.

\---

He's tired, yes, and aching all over, but he's missed nearly two months, and he'd like to get back to it.

The city's still floating, and everyone is safe. On the third day, he asks to see Franks, and Keller loads him into a wheelchair to find Katie Brown sitting by her bed, explaining it all to her. He doesn't interrupt, though he's heard it already from Beckett, and he stays once Katie leaves.

"How're you feeling?"

"Not great," she admits with an attempt at a rueful smile. "They're letting me go home, though, once I get my strength back. They're sending Jerry's casket ahead, but I should be there in time for the funeral. There's a lot-" she breaks off, and her face twists. "God, I haven't even met his mother, yet, but his _sister_ ," and she starts sobbing.

He doesn't want to, it's uncomfortable as hell, and he's the worst person to be there for this sort of thing, but he stays. Penance, maybe. There are flowers by her bedside, which part of him thinks is a little sick, given what she's gone through, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't know her that well.

\---

He's allowed visitors only for short times, but it seems he's become a popular attraction, enough that they give him his own room off the infirmary. The groups are always in sporadic and changing, during the day, but at night, Ronon arrives on his own, late enough that John worries about the attention.

"It's fine," Ronon explains, cuing up the movie on the DVD. "Makes you feel any better, it's standing orders from Beckett. Says you need some sort of routine, but that you're not supposed to start thinking about work, yet."

"And you just happen to be the one that doesn't have any standing duties in the evenings."

"Yup. We're good. You complaining?"

"Hell no," John says, because Beckett's ideas are usually good ones, and yeah, they're still in the infirmary, and they're just watching a movie, but Ronon has to pull the chair up real close if he has any hopes of seeing the screen.

Ronon's forearm is pressed against his own, and it takes John the better part of the movie to think that yeah, given the circumstances, this is them talking.

\---

He's not surprised to hear form Lorne that Franks has asked to be reassigned to the SGC.

\---

The first night he's released, finds that Ronon's still being conscientious about following Carson's orders. At least up until the moment the door is closed, and John's seen this one coming, putting himself in Ronon's space even before he turns to face him.

"Welcome home," Ronon smiles once John's kissed out and catching his breath. It's one of the real grins he's rediscovered somewhere, lately, and pushes John towards the bed.

He thinks dimly of pointing out that he never left, that neither of them had, but he thinks he gets what Ronon means.

\---

John keeps getting better, and really, nothing's changed, but he's more careful than before, a little. He probably doesn't even know that he's doing it, but Ronon can't stop noticing. In their rooms, or out on the edge of the city when they're running, or sometimes in the gym, when it's late, it's like nothing's changed.

It's just the rest of the time. A little extra elbow room in the cafeteria, a few less jokes in the hallways.

Ronon wonders if he knew what things were like when he'd been in stasis. Caught onto the behavior, gone quiet, shut down a little.

He's heard the stories from the SGC, rumors about how what happens in the field _stays_ in the field, and yeah, everyone's discreet, but John's still obviously concerned.

They came close, real damn close, to ruining John's career over this. Ronon gets it, he really does, but it's starting to look like the kind of thing that they're going to need to talk about.

He's not looking forward to it, either, but he brings it up, carefully as he opens his second beer. It's roundabout and a bit awkward. Neither of them are good at talking, but by the time it's finally over with, and he's following John down onto the mattress, he's got it figured out.

John's not the type to admit that he cares about his status, his career. He's crowed, often enough, about having been assigned to the post in Antarctica. But that was before, he'd said.

Before all of this. Before he had something to lose.

Ronon leaves it at that, because John's mouth is on his throat, but in the morning, he can tell that John's given it a little more thought.

He tries, afterwards, a little harder, or maybe a little less. Ronon can't tell, and he's not going to ask. They don't need to have that talk again, they're good.

\---

The SGC wants him back for review before letting him resume his full duties, and there are several others heading back as well, so Ronon doesn't feel too obvious when he joins the party in the gate room as the connection back to earth is made.

Landry's waiting on the other side, along with Carter, and she's taking John to DC to meet with O'Neill. It doesn't seem the kind of thing that Ronon's welcome to tag along on, so he hangs around the SGC for a day or so, filling Landry in on the state of Pegasus.

How he wound up being the one to report on the state of an entire _galaxy_ is beyond him, but he understands the logic behind using the resources at hand. Eventually, though, Landry takes pity on him or something, because when Teal'c comes through the gate, he's already dressed for sparring.

Other than that, though, the SGC is a dull place when it's not about to explode, and Ronon's relieved when John appears in the doorway of the guest quarters.

"I'm reinstated the moment we get back. They're telling Lorne now."

Ronon's expected as much, but he doesn't say so. "Think he'll take it okay?"

"The promotion that's coming along with the, er, demotion, should soften the blow. Anyhow, c'mon, grab your stuff. We've got three days before our flight leaves."

"Where are we going?"

John looks around at the four windowless walls and smirks. "Does it matter?"

\---

He finds the locker they'd assigned him the last time he was back there, and finds his clothes, as well as a thick brown envelope, which he opens. A small booklet with his picture falls out, and a plastic card, with the same picture. Identification cards, he remembers something about Landry saying a few months back.

John says he's got the car lined up when he steps out, and he's wearing a pack on his back, but it's even larger than the one he takes on missions. He examines the card, laughing "They're saying you're from _Iowa_?" as they step into the elevator.

"Why's that funny?" Ronon asks, but finally, they're on the surface, heading down one hallway and another, and there's the checkpoint, and there's the sky, and he's honestly not listening to whatever John's saying anyhow.

\---

It's late at night when they check into the hotel, and John's too tired from staring at the road to do much more than stare at the television. Ronon, on the other hand, paces the room like he's looking for something to shoot, and there's a good chance it will be John if he doesn't play his cards right.

"So, we drove ten hours to hang out in a room," Ronon grumbles, looking out the window again.

"One, it's just for tonight. Two, it's a room with windows and nobody important looking _through_ them." John takes a breath and makes himself stand up. "Three, that restaurant we passed coming up the street? Totally worth it. "

But Ronon's not impressed with the chips and salsa the waitress leaves at the table when she takes their order, and John has to quietly explain the concept of "appetizers."

"You eat _before_ you eat?" He clearly thinks it's the stupidest thing in the world, or maybe it's this world that's the stupidest one in the universe, it wouldn't be the first time. But it doesn't stop him from tearing through more than half the basket and finishing a huge order of enchiladas with mole.

\---

John's not feeling the aftereffects of the tequila, and Ronon hates him for it just a little, even though he did throw in an extra gallon of water when they stopped for supplies, along with a pair of sun glasses that turn the sky an odd shade of blue. Maybe that's why the rocks look so strange, once they've made it over the hill and the horizon expands.

"They're red," Ronon takes the glasses off, squints to be sure, and no, it's not just the glasses.

"Got it in one," John grins, turning onto the highway and heading towards them.

They check in at a worn stone building that should look out of place, on Earth, but then they're off again, and the road turns to gravel beneath their wheels, and eventually, they stop.

"We're hiking in from here. Grab that bag, would you?"

Outside of the car, it's hot, sweltering, but there's a breeze coming through the valley. John's looking at a map, tucking it in a side pocket of the pack before pointing them down a rough trail, and it's all making sense, now.

John's back on duty as soon as he gets back. He needs to prepare, to rehearse, to find out for himself that he's actually up to it.

John's unarmed, though Ronon knows there's a knife in his pack. He slides his own out, though, clips it onto the belt on his waist before he moves to follow. This is Earth, though, soft. He doesn't really think he's going to need it.

They walk for a while, over rocks and through scrub brush, the occasional stand of trees, and they stop to rest in the shade of some rocks. He's sweat through his clothing now, and he's not sure, but John's arms and face are looking a little red. Then again, everything does.

"Where are we going?" He asks, once a little of the shade's been eaten away by the sun.

"Just a little further now. Drink some more water." It's the only warning he gives, before leading Ronon up over a rough path that winds up along the rocks, and it's good that their hands are free, because there are parts where they have to actually climb.

It's faster going than he expected, though, and once he sees John's intended destination, he says as much as he overtakes him.

"Yeah, well, without McKay slowing us down," John sidesteps, readjusts his grip before hauling himself up.

"Only one I see slowing us down is _you_ Ronon smirks, waiting at the top and watching John scramble over the last outcropping.

"Not anymore," John grins, then, and finally just _stops_.

Ronon turns around. He'd glanced around when he'd first gotten up here, but hadn't really _looked_.

A short distance away, the ground falls away at a sharp angle, and beyond it, he can see for miles. Other hills and mountains rising up out of the scattered trees There's a road there, Ronon can just see it, miles away, but other than that? Nothing but rocks and air, nothing and themselves.

Ronon didn't think Earth _got_ this empty, it's amazing.

"What do you think?" John lets his pack drop to the ground, then drags it over to the shade afforded by another.

"Feels like home," Ronon says, though he's not sure what it means by it. John nods anyway.

"Yeah," he says, taking another drink of water before offering the bottle. Ronon doesn't need it, not yet, but he reaches out for John all the same.

\---

The sky is huge, here, bright, and even with his eyes closed, it's creeping red and orange through his eyelids. The sun's a slow burn on his skin, and it's blotting everything out but touch. John's mouth on him, slow and teasing, slick and hot and everywhere. The chain of his dog tags draped over the top of his spine, rolling underneath Ronon's fingers, and the incredible heat of his hair. John's fingers slicking into him, the rhythm slower than before, easier now, but deceptive, too, giving the pressure he needs only when he's not ready for it, dancing away again every time he twists into the contact, tries to get closer.

John moves back to kneel between his spread knees, and there's nothing between Ronon and the world but the thin bedroll under his back, but his hand is back on his hip. He's not going far, then, just shifting. Easing a second finger in alongside the first, and it's a bit rougher, for a moment, almost too rough when he strikes that deep, and he tries, failingly, to move, to shift, to open his eyes.

"Keep doin' that, you'll go blind," John teases when he winces against the sun, and it sounds like some sort of dirty joke, and then he _slows down again_ , so Ronon growls.

"Okay, yeah," John says when it's not enough any more, and Ronon drags his hand down along his cock, pressure just right, and his fingers dance low enough, sometimes, to touch John's wrist, and it's a whole new rhythm, then. Even under the wind, he can hear John's breath catch, but he matches the pace of his strokes, sliding into him harder, now, and it's almost enough but not, and it's not _want_ , anymore, he _needs_ him. Drags his hand roughly up along John's back, his fingers slicking over the skin as he pulls up on his shoulder, drags him blindly up.

He can see the movement across the back of his eyelids, and this time, when he opens his eyes, all he can see is John, and that the sun's moved in the sky, coming from a different angle than before, and _fuck_ , he's been like this for an hour, and his mouth is almost too dry to tell John " _Now_."

John's hips are slick where they're pressing against the inside of his thighs, and sweat drops from his jaw onto Ronon's chest. He imagines it hissing away while John presses into him, a steady drive that lasts forever until he's finally inside.

"Open your eyes," John breathes after a moment, and this time, it's John's face that's looking blown, his mouth is open and his eyes are staring, and they're seeing him, if only just barely.

"More," Ronon orders, rocking his hips up to meet him, take that last incremental inch, but he means _all_ , and John starts to give it, careful and teasing for a few moments. It's good, it's almost- Ronon reaches for himself again, and maybe John's taking it as a command, because the thrusts are coming harder, now, faster. They push the breath out of him, sometimes it comes out as a choked-off moan, sometimes silent, when he can catch it.

His skin isn't burning any more, it's _singing_.

He's got one hand on John's chest, brushes his thumbnail over a nipple, and can actually _feel_ the resulting shudder shake down through John's chest, into his spine, stuttering through his hips, and back into Ronon as he starts to crest. He yanks John down, kisses him roughly before the cycle breaks. John pulls his mouth away as the edge comes, watches him careen over it, and doesn't stop moving until Ronon breathes again.

When he does stop, it's because he's being wracked from the inside out, like he's too much alive for his body to handle, and the spasms shake them both.

He collapses, then, slowly, but it's too hot to stay that way for more than a minute, so he pushes himself up with a groan. He's moving carefully as he eases off to one side, but Ronon can't stop from jerking when he pulls out, even if he can't find it in himself to move yet. He can feel John's heart slowing against his arm, his breath returning to normal.

Ronon closes his eyes again, stretches his legs out one at a time before leaning up on one elbow to find John dozing next to him.

They both need water, here, in a minute, and should _both_ get dressed, but he's having a hard time finding the motivation. "You're gonna get a sunburn," he says, because _one_ of them should probably get their act together, here.

"As far as side effects go," John cracks one eye open, "that's nothing."

"Yeah." Ronon runs a hand along John's arm. His skin is dry under his fingers, and they _both_ need water, soon, but John kisses him, lazy and careless and totally at ease, and it's not the sort of thing they can get away with every day, so he gives it a minute. Kisses him back for a while.

  
\-- _Epilogue_ \--

Ronon wasn't wrong, and if John doesn't want to wind up explaining to Beckett how he managed to get a sunburn on his _ass_ , he's going to have to be careful, the next few missions out.

For the record, Ronon's totally fine with that.

  
 _The end._


End file.
